Succession
by plutospawn
Summary: Couslands just love to marry into royalty. But no one ever thought to consider Alistair's or Anora's preference on the matter.


"No. I'm going to marry Alistair and become Queen of Ferelden."

"Honestly, why do you think I pitted you against Loghain? So that you could be queen?"

"Yes."

"What if he won? It would have been some really poor planning if the future Queen of Ferelden was run through to settle some politics. No, it was so that I, the future King of Ferelden would remain safe and intact."

"I'm going to marry Alistair!"

"You do that. When I marry Anora and become king, you'll be invited to the wedding. Maybe. I'll have to see if Anora's okay with that. You did just brutalize her father."

"But I'm the hero now, not you."

"Yeah, but I'm older."

Oh dear. Anora clicked her tongue against the back of her front teeth. She had heard stories, yes, but it took actually seeing them perform for her to give the rumors any weight. She knelt down next to her father who was still on his knees. Teryn Loghain's eye was blackened and the blood oozing from the cut on his cheek had nearly congealed. Anora retrieved her handkerchief from the pouch at her waist and pressed it along her father's temple.

The Teryn had always told her that the Cousland family was a prime example of quantity over quality. Fergus Cousland was a shining addition to the noble class. Poised and skilled, any family would have been pleased to have the privilege of calling him son. Then there was Edgar and Silfee.

Edgar and Silfee. The two whelps of House Cousland. The very same Edgar and Silfee who stood shamefully bickering before her over the entire kingdom of Ferelden. Silfee flicked Edgar across his nose and the boy retaliated by grabbing a fistful of the short braids that adorned his sister's hair. To think they had both been spawned from the very same womb that birthed Fergus.

Anora had been told that when news of the arlessa's pregnancy arrived at the Chantry, the Revered Mother herself traveled to Castle Cousland to bestow a blessing. Upon arriving, however, the Revered Mother was stricken suddenly with such a horrible illness, the poor woman nearly died. So not one, but two healthy, pink, screeching babies were brought into this world with nary a blessing. It would seem they hadn't stopped screeching since.

What they lacked in etiquette, they made up for in beauty. Silfee was renown for her skin of fresh cream and eyes so blue-green and so deep, it was as if she had the force of the ocean behind them. Edgar had often been told that he had a body that had been carved from marble by the goddess herself. Unfortunately for the masses, they weren't only beautiful, they knew they were beautiful. So Edgar would talk softly to the servant women in his deep, rich voice and Silfee learned to giggle lightly at the men while keeping her overbearing and vapid opinions to herself.

Anora spared a glance for their companions. Alistair, the failed Templar, the fledgling Grey Warden, the poor fool who had the misfortune of his lineage, appeared to be paralyzed with fear. Perhaps it meant the young man had an ounce of sense tucked away somewhere within his glib demeanor. So as the twins argued as if they had a single brain cell to share between the two of them, it occured to Anora that perhaps it was truly that unscripted. Perhaps Alistair had been consulted about his choice of spouse as little as she. Perhaps the Couslands were really fools of fortune and little more.

She stood and crept to Alistair's side. "So you and the lady," Anora said. "You are in love, then?"

His mouth twisted. "Not exactly."

"So you're not, then?"

"Well, I wouldn't go that far... necessarily..."

"Well, are you or aren't you?" Anora directed her gaze toward the siblings. "She does seem intent on marrying you, after all."

Alistair shrugged, his previous paralysis forgotten. His new goal appeared to be hedging toward the exit. "I think she means well," he said. "If a bit touched."

"And what of the gentleman?" Anora pressed. "I'll admit that I never thought nearly murdering a lady's father publicly and then demanding her hand was a charming way to woo her."

"Edgar? You would enjoy him, I think," Alistair snorted.

"I beg your pardon?" She raised an eyebrow. "Explain yourself, please."

The Grey Warden chuckled. "So there was this one time, we needed to restock our camp supplies," he said. "Somehow, Maker knows how, Edgar convinced us all that he and Oghren should be the two allowed to travel into town with all our sovereigns and a wagon."

Anora frowned. "Most of you seem the sensible sort. Was I really so wrong in that particular observation?"

"Hush, or I'll never get to the best part," Alistair said. "Anyway, after not hearing any word from them in three days, the rest of us ventured into town to see, if nothing else, what happened to our money. We found our wagon just outside of town. On fire. Edgar and Oghren were nowhere to be found."

"And you think I would enjoy him why?"

Alistair just rolled his eyes. "Within the town, the villagers were furious and on the verge of rioting. There was a young lady weeping piteously about how some rube had claimed he would wed her and thusly convinced her to gift him with her, uh, maidenhood, so to speak. Of course, after he finished soiling her body, he moved on to bed her sister, her mother, the local apothecary, made eyes at the Revered Mother..."

"I take it your money was also lost."

"Worth it. We found Edgar and Oghren both deep in the town's well. It was the one place where they were hidden and safe from the townspeople and their torches. They didn't stop to think, however, that while easy to jump down a well, it was not quite so easy to climb out of it. Especially since both of them had a brewery's worth to drink."

Anora blinked and turned to face Alistair. "What was it, if I may ask, that compelled you to rescue them?"

"Would you believe it was so that I had this ridiculously charming tale to tell lovely ladies such as yourself?" he asked. "Honestly, I think we were all too flabbergasted to think things through clearly when an entire town's worth of people were flailing torches around so indignantly."

"While I'm positive that Edgar is not without his own merit," Anora began. "Do you actually think that he would be fit to rule an entire kingdom?" Consequently, would she be able to consummate such a relationship that would cement that power?

"Oh, don't tell me you're having second thoughts about succession." Alistair smirked. "You've had your eyes on that throne for quite some time now. Would you honestly prefer Silfee, Queen of Ferelden?"

Silfee, who was currently swinging fists at a twin brother who was only avoiding such blows on account of him having longer arms than her.

"She certainly would be a beautiful figurehead," Anora offered.

"You know, she's odd," he said. "Sometimes she'll smile at you and you almost think that you've gotten through. Like there's an actual person beneath all that callow bitch."

"And then?" Anora asked.

"Then she'll laugh and frolic off to Leliana's tent, leaving you at an imprudent disadvantage with the desperate desire to sit down," Alistair replied dryly.

"I see," Anora murmured.

"That's just the problem," he said. "Everyone in the camp sees. It's all just a game to her, really."

"Alistair?" Anora set her hand on his arm. "May I be so bold as to suggest that neither are fit for the throne of Ferelden?"

"I think a drunken child could have pointed that one out," he snorted. "Maybe someone should break them apart before they actually succeed in seriously harming the other?"

"In a moment," she said. "I am Queen of Ferelden. You have royal blood. Those two hope to use us for their own personal gain. Separate, we both have an opportunistic claim to the throne, but together--"

"Wait." Alistair gave her a sidelong glance. "I'm not hearing this. You're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting, are you?"

Anora nodded. "I know how to be queen. Being king is your birthright. It may not be ideal, but it most certainly will be better than that." She gestured toward the twins.

"I suppose..."

"When I birth your heir," she continued. "You will rest easy knowing that it is, at least, truly yours. If we begin a war with another country, you will rest easy knowing that it was because there was no alternative and not simply because some neighboring queen insulted my hairstyle."

"Alright," Alistair said. He paused. "So why would you choose me over that?" He gestured toward Edgar.

Edgar, who had swept his dear sister into his arms to plant a sloppy kiss on her forehead as she struggled and protested.

"That?" Anora said. "I already had that. And while I did enjoy Cailan, I was a girl, then, and we all eventually grow up."

"King or no, I need to take part in defeating the archdemon," he said.

"Ferelden would demand no less," she replied. She leaned forward and took her still kneeling father's hands in her own. "As your wife, I ask for a boon. That you let my father live."

Alistair's eyes widened, "But Loghain--"

Anora cut him off. "Loghain or Silfee. The choice is yours."

Alistair groaned. "Loghain it is. Shall we stop those two now or later?"

"I don't believe they will seriously hurt each other, but if it suits you." Anora smiled as she pulled her father to his feet. She nodded toward the exit as she began to lead both men out. "Although I would personally wait until after the wedding..."


End file.
